


You Have To Believe

by Krasimer



Series: You've Got To Just Believe (Can I Get An Amen) [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: 30 years later, Even though they were never together, Have you guys found the Henry Audio Log in-game?, Henry is about 57, Henry is in the studio, Henry still loves Joey, Henry-centric, Joey is about 58, Linda is his ex-wife, M/M, POV Henry, Post-Break Up, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: The record player had probably been reclaimed by the music department a long, long time ago.Sammy probably had shouted up a storm about it.But Joey was supposed to be here somewhere. Maybe he had found an old sketchbook of Henry’s and had decided to return it to him. Maybe this was how they were going to find each other again, older and grayer and quieter but no less good friends.Maybe this was how Joey was going to finally actually say something about what had passed between them the day he’d started teaching Henry how to dance.





	You Have To Believe

Henry stared at the puddles of ink, his eyes wide.

He had gotten a letter from Joey. He had come back to the studio he had left behind thirty years before – the result of a bitter argument and anger on both sides. He missed his old friend, that had been why he had come running. Linda had left him a couple of years before, his parents had died, it had warmed something inside of him to be contacted by the man he had once founded a company with. It had tugged almost painfully at the part of him that hated being alone.

But things were strange.

The Ink Machine, as it was called, the heaving monstrosity of metal and mechanics…That was stranger than anything he had ever seen before. Even stranger than his desk, still exactly where he had left it, with one of his old joke sketches on it.

Around the corner, the room he tried not to remember had been locked.

He wondered if the record player was still inside.

Probably not. When Joey had seemed to go off the deep end, things had changed between them. The kindness in Joey’s eyes had gone. Henry had gone off for the week of his sister’s wedding and he had come back and Joey had changed. It had been subtle, but it had been just enough that they weren’t as close as they had been.

The record player had probably been reclaimed by the music department a long, long time ago.

Sammy probably had shouted up a storm about it.

But Joey was supposed to be here somewhere. Maybe he had found an old sketchbook of Henry’s and had decided to return it to him. Maybe this was how they were going to find each other again, older and grayer and quieter but no less good friends.

Maybe this was how Joey was going to finally actually say something about what had passed between them the day he’d started teaching Henry how to dance.

Hell, they were in their late fifties now.

What difference would it make to the world, even if guys like them were looked down on? They were old, let them live their lives in peace. No one would even look at them funny, not two old men who just wanted to live quietly and together.

He just had to find Joey –

–Or maybe he would find Boris, ripped open and hollowed out.

“Oh my god,” Henry drew back a little, a hand going to cover his mouth. “Joey, what were you doing?”

He was supposed to find something here, possibly find Joey, but he wanted to leave.

The pedestals were his next discovery. The empty spaces on top of them that were free of dust in particular shapes gave him a clue as to what each one was supposed to be. Finding the items wasn’t too much of a trial, just somewhat annoying.

Turning the machine on wasn’t too hard either.

He just didn’t know why he was doing it. It was like there was something in the air, some sort of compulsion to do the tasks he found set before him. Almost like he was being led along the path, following the trail of breadcrumbs.

He hadn’t expected Bendy to show up.

Words that were older than his absence from the studio whispered in his mind as he ran from the creation of ink.

_Pretend you’re Bendy. Or Boris, if that works better for you._

The exit door was within reach, he could have grabbed it if he had been quicker, but he dropped through the floor and landed on his back, the air forced out of his lungs. Henry sat there, stunned, for a few minutes before pushing himself up and looking at the ceiling above him.

The floor had been rigged.

Walking in had been no problem. The supports that were now dangling from the hole were favoring the walking gait of someone entering the building. Given enough leg length, anyone would be able to walk in without any trouble. The splintered ones that supported the floor the other way, however, looked as if they had been rigged to break. If someone had tried exiting the building, the floor would have broken underneath them.

What on earth had Joey Drew been up to in the thirty years since they had last seen each other?

Something tugged at the back of his mind and Henry frowned as he moved just enough to see some ink drip past his face and onto the floor. If it had been triggered by him walking over it, had Joey set it up specifically for him?

But that didn’t explain the layer of dust over everything in the building – he hadn’t even thought of it at the time, but it hadn’t looked like anyone had walked inside in _decades_.

Which meant that the floor had been rigged to break however long ago it had been since someone had been inside the studio. Henry swallowed his rising fear as he kept looking up through the hole he had fallen through. Did that mean that none of the people employed at the studio had made it out?

What did that mean for Joey?

The candles, the drawing on the floor, and the coffins certainly did not bode well for the man’s fate. Something had gone terribly wrong at the studio, his old friend had likely fallen victim to whatever had happened.

Henry squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, then grabbed the ax he saw leaning against a coffin.

If Joey needed his help, he would certainly not turn away. Even if they hadn’t truly been friends in thirty years, he would still help. Even if they had left off on bitter terms, Henry was still going to try to find Joey and get him to safety.

Whatever was happening here was dangerous, that much was obvious.

He was going to get to the bottom of things, help Joey, and possibly finally tell the dolt how much he liked him. He had come back from the wedding and Joey had gone cold and it had hurt him. The gal he had danced with at his sister’s wedding, Linda, had kept in contact.

They’d become close and eventually gotten married and Henry’d had to watch as his once-best-friend had grown distant and closed off. Maybe if he had waited just a little longer or if he had chased after Joey on the day they had first danced…

But ‘Maybe’ was a wish and wishes only came true in cartoons. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do: Press on. See if I can find a way out,” Henry muttered, tightening his grip on the ax.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh...Gameda, I believe your name was? 
> 
> I was already planning the second part when you commented on the first, but I don't think this is exactly what you wanted. One day, I will write a happy AU for them, but this is not that day. I would like to offer an apology and the promise of writing happy things in the future.


End file.
